


The Sorting of Minerva McGonagall

by keyflowers



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Hogwarts House Sorting, POV Minerva McGonagall, Pre-Canon, Young Minerva McGonagall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 01:44:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18458894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keyflowers/pseuds/keyflowers
Summary: "Minerva drew unusual attention to herself on her very first evening, when she was revealed to be a Hatstall. After five and a half minutes, the Sorting Hat, which had been vacillating between the houses of Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, placed Minerva in the latter." —Pottermore.On September 1st, 1947, Minerva McGonagall arrives at Hogwarts.





	The Sorting of Minerva McGonagall

When Albus Dumbledore lowered the Sorting Hat onto her head, Minerva McGonagall expected to feel something.

She was, after all, wearing one of the oldest magical artifacts Hogwarts possessed. She had developed the unspoken expectation that wearing it would make her _feel_ more magical—perhaps it would be inexplicably heavy, or impart some arcane wisdom, or perhaps wearing it would feel like sticking her head into some large, cavernous space full of a clever consciousness.

But, really, it was just a hat.

Until a quiet, cunning voice whispered in her ear. Well, not in her ear, not really; it was filling her head from all directions at once. Minerva’s eyes widened, and she gripped the stool tighter. _“Oho, what have we here?”_

 _I’m Minerva McGonagall,_ she thought back, though the Hat had said _what_ , not _who_. 

_“Yes,”_ the Sorting Hat said back, and there was something like a chuckle in its voice. _“Oh, yes, you certainly are, no doubt in your head about that.”_

What _that_ was supposed to mean, Minerva didn’t know, and she stared out at the Great Hall as she waited for the Hat’s pronouncement. Some of the older students were talking amongst themselves, but plenty of heads were turned towards her. She lifted her chin higher, staring proudly ahead, though really it was hard to keep herself from glancing up at the enchanted ceiling, full of stars. This place really was _magic_ , she thought again, as she had thought every few seconds, it felt, since she had stepped foot off of the gamekeeper’s boats. _Really_ magic, _full_ of magic. Not magic carefully and fearfully hidden away, but magic that was unapologetically _real._

She was going to love it here. 

The Hat hadn’t sorted her yet, Minerva realized, and she frowned, one foot tapping on the leg of the stool. She imagined she could feel the Hat peering into her brain, looking through her thoughts to find out where the proper place for her was, although really she felt nothing of the sort. _Well?_ she prompted. _Aren’t you going to give me a House?_

 _“I’m working on it,”_ the Hat responded, a bit huffily Minerva thought. _“You’re an interesting one.”_

 _Well, I_ know _I’m not Hufflepuff,_ Minerva thought.

The Sorting Hat hummed. _“Are you quite sure? Hufflepuffs are hardworking and loyal, you know, and I see that here—such dedication—”_

 _Last month,_ Minerva informed it, _I pushed Colin McCreary in the lake because he kept trying to touch my hair. Hufflepuffs are supposed to be kind._ And patient, and sensitive, and a host of other things Minerva knew she wasn’t.

The Hat laughed. _“Oh, very well, perhaps not.”_

 _And I don’t want to be in Slytherin, so you can rule that out if you haven’t already,_ she continued. Her mother had _said_ she’d known nice Slytherins, but Minerva had read that Slytherin produced the most Dark wizards, and she didn’t want to be housemates with anyone like _that_. She’d also read about _blood purism_ , which her mother hadn’t wanted to explain, so Minerva had gone and found out herself, and if there was anyone here who would dislike her father just because he was a Muggle, she wanted to be far, far away from them.

The teachers here probably wouldn’t take well to pushing people in lakes, after all, and she didn’t want to get into trouble if she could avoid it.

_“Not Slytherin either? With all that ambition? People can achieve great things in Slytherin, you know.”_

_I bet I can do great things no matter where you put me,_ Minerva argued. 

It was odd, but the longer she spoke to the Hat, the more acutely she imagined its reactions, though it had no face or anything to gauge from except its voice. Now she imagined it raising a nonexistent eyebrow. _“Very well. So it’s to be Gryffindor or Ravenclaw, then.”_

 _My mother was in Ravenclaw,_ Minerva thought, feeling the same odd mixture of pride and sadness she felt whenever she tried to imagine her mother at Hogwarts, at home with her magic. 

_“And do you desire to follow in her footsteps?”_

Minerva considered for a moment. _No,_ she thought finally. _Or I mean, I don’t want that to be the only reason. I just want to learn magic, and—and—do great things with it. Put me in whichever House will help me do that._

She had the sensation that the Hat was humming in thought, and it fell silent once more. She’d nearly forgotten about the rest of the Hall, but now she looked around and realized that, though plenty of people had lost interest, the ones who were still watching her were doing so more intently. A glance to the side revealed Albus Dumbledore watching her with speculation in his twinkling eyes, and she looked quickly away, feeling suddenly awkward under that gaze. How long had it been now? Two minutes? Three?

 _Aren’t you ever going to decide?_ she thought impatiently. _Everyone’s waiting._

_“All in good time,”_ the Hat said maddeningly. _“I am going to put you in the House that is best for you, no matter how long it takes.”_

 _It can’t be that hard to decide,_ Minerva argued. Gryffindor or Ravenclaw—which would she pick, if given the choice? She wasn’t sure. Ravenclaw was supposed to be the cleverest House, and Minerva knew she was clever—and she wanted to learn all about magic, and if that was where she would learn the most….

But Gryffindor was about bravery, and nerve, and all that sort. Gryffindors were supposed to fight for what was right, wasn’t that it? Was Minerva brave? Certainly she was headstrong, often bossy, occasionally reckless—that wasn’t the same thing, was it? 

_“You begin to see my problem,”_ the Hat chuckled. _“Oh, you’re clever, certainly. Perhaps too clever for your own good. And a thirst for learning—not just to learn, but to prove yourself. Certainly Ravenclaw will help you there. You’ll be among quick, curious minds—oh yes, Ravenclaw would broaden your horizons. But…”_

Minerva waited, something taut in her chest. _But what?_

 _“Passion, quite a lot of passion,”_ the Hat mused, as much to itself as to her, it seemed. _“And justice—oh my goodness, yes. You’re quite fond of rules, aren’t you—but especially when you can make them up yourself!”_ Minerva frowned, shifting; she had the rather distinct feeling she was being laughed at, and didn’t like it. _“You’re right, you know, about Gryffindors fighting for what they think is right. And you have some strong ideas about rightness in here, haven’t you? Yes…”_

Again, the Hat fell silent. Minerva felt suddenly small underneath the expanse of patched fabric; she could not say how she knew, but she felt that the Hat was pondering things far beyond her understanding, things she wouldn’t comprehend even if it voiced them to her. She didn’t believe in things like destiny—it was silly, to think anyone but yourself decided your own actions—but she felt something, sitting there underneath the Hat, that went somehow beyond this moment, a profundity she was too small to grasp.

She chanced another glance around, feeling out of her depth now and all the more obstinately determined to get back _into_ it. Beside her, Professor Dumbledore had pulled out a pocket watch and was staring at it with interest.

 _“Yes,”_ the Hat said suddenly, and Minerva nearly jumped. _“Yes, very well. I’ve decided.”_

 _Well?_ Minerva thought, her eagerness returning in a leap of nerves. _Which is it?_

But instead of responding in its small, cunning voice, the Hat boomed its answer to the entire Hall with a bellow that made Minerva’s ears ring: “GRYFFINDOR!”

Minerva leapt up, feeling a surge of relief and excitement, and turned to put the Hat back on the stool; her head felt strangely light without it, though it had not been heavy. As she half-marched, half-ran to the Gryffindor table, she thought she heard Professor Dumbledore murmur, “Five and a half minutes,” as he snapped his pocket watch shut.

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this little drabble ages ago on tumblr, and finally thought i may as well post it here. the world could always use more mcgonagall-centric fics, after all. so, a quick little exploration of what her sorting may have looked like. thanks for reading!


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